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THE GOLDEN VIOLET.
Her cheek was pale, for its blush soon pass'd,—
Loveliest tints are not those which last;
Then again it redden'd, again was gone,
Like a rainbow and rose in unison:
Her smile was sad, as if nature meant
Those lips to live in their own content;
But Fate pass'd o’er them her stern decree,
And taught them what suffering and sorrow might be:
And sang she in sweet but mournful tone,
As her heart had the misery it painted known.
THE QUEEN OF CYPRUS:
THE PROVENÇAL LADY'S LAY.
A summer isle, which seem'd to be
A very favourite with the sea,
